


The Fire That'll Catch You

by orphan_account



Series: PBB 2015 [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (With a cameo from a Teen Wolf character because I am trash), Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cold War, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Inhumane conditions, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4991359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Dan Howell is an Escape Agent in Berlin during the Cold War. When Phil Lester asks him to help, Dan doesn't refuse. But what does everyone know about Phil that Dan doesn't? And what's that strange feeling in his gut that happens whenever he sees Phil?</p><p>-</p><p>“You do realise things like these take months to plan out? You could be dead before you even make it to the Wall,” he tells Phil. Dan doesn’t know why he’s hesitating so much. Normally he’d just leave and start planning, but he really doesn’t want Phil to make the wrong choice.</p><p>“I don’t care how long it takes, as long as you get me out of here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire That'll Catch You

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah guys, holy shit!!!!! this is my contribution to this amazing project and i’m so glad to have taken part in it. it has been a long fucking ride, with a lot of bumps...... if it isn’t my ‘usual’ quality, please keep in mind that this was written while i was half-sick/delirious...... i think it's like,,, become a sort of baby for me??? i've worked so hard on this and i really really hope you guys like it <33333
> 
> i am dedicating this to the two best people in the world; [sonnet](http://procrastinationpowers.tumblr.com) for always being there for me and being a kickass (albeit a bit nerdy but w/e) friend and [tico](http://k1ngdragon.tumblr.com) for being the best person alive, for letting me use your name in this, for being there for me when i needed you the most 
> 
>  
> 
> **MAYBE LISTEN TO[THIS SONG](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3RPEtmgljE) BECAUSE IT'LL ENHANCE YOUR EXPERIENCE**
> 
>  
> 
>  **notes:** there's little to no age difference between dan and phil bc plot. also just presume everyone speaks german because i'm not writing that shit
> 
>  **disclaimer:** i don’t mean to harm/offend anyone with this fic. it is purely meant for entertainment and probably not a 100% accurate replication of what it was like back then. please don’t sue me.
> 
> the art has been made by the amazing [sasssy-rice](http://sasssy-rice.tumblr.com)!!!!!!! she hasn't posted it yet though so i'll include the link to it later ^^ 
> 
> beta'd by [you-little-oedipus](http://you-little-oedipus.tumblr.com) (thank u sosososo much kalysta!!!!!)
> 
>  
> 
> **SKIP TO THE END OF THE NOTES FOR DETAILED TRIGGER WARNINGS**

**October, 1988:**

The sun is beating down on him, making sweat roll down his back. It’s surprisingly warm for October, and he absolutely hates it. He wipes at his face in an attempt to dry it as his heart beat speeds up. He’s here.

The concrete wall used to be an unfamiliar sight, but after three years it’s become a second home. He knows it inside out: how thick it is, how high it is and how deep it goes underground. He has first-hand experience.

The soldiers at the American gateway nod at him and he nods back. They’ve been nothing but nice to him and he appreciates it. The Russian soldiers however, are a different story. It took him a lot of time to gain their ‘trust’, although that might not be the appropriate word. It’s more of a mutual understanding.

He always swallows when he crosses over the gate into no man’s land. It’s barren; the grass has given way to landmines and barbed wire. A mushroom cloud would fit right in.

“Still coming here, Howell?”

He looks up at the mention of his last name. He’s arrived at the Russian gate - or a fortress, as one might call it. He knows they’ll take any measure necessary to prevent people from fleeing to Western Berlin.

“You know it,” he replies, trying to keep his face straight and not show any nerves. His palms are sweating but he refrains from wiping them on his jeans. They’re trained to pick up body language.

“You know that we have to look into the bag again, right?”

He nods, just once. It’s the same song every day; he comes to the gate, they ask questions and look into the bag of sand on the back of his bike and his pockets, and then he passes through. His heart always races with adrenaline - what if they find out today? - but they never do. Apparently Russia decided to send their stupidest soldiers to Berlin, a grave mistake on their part. It’s not like he minds, quite the opposite. This way he’s able to help people in need, to mean something to someone.

“He’s all clear!” the Russian soldier shouts after he’s done searching the bag and Dan’s pockets and Dan salutes him, trying his best not to make it seem mocking.

They never once see the grin on his face.

 

* * * * * 

 

By the time he gets to PJ’s, it’s cooled down a little. He’s grateful; biking to PJ’s takes a long time. He’s waiting eagerly for Dan in the doorframe and his face lights up with relief when Dan comes around the corner.

He steps off the bike and PJ claps a hand on his shoulder, a silent ‘congrats’ and ‘I’m glad you’re still alive.’ Since he’s started to do this regularly, it’s become their thing.

“It’s still working, just like you said,” PJ says as he grins. Dan mirrors him. In all the time he’s been doing this, they’ve been too distracted with the bag of sand to notice he was smuggling bikes.

Dan carries the bike into the bike shed, down the steep stairs, and into the cellar. It’s cold and dusty and it makes his skin crawl, but he’s gone to PJ’s for as long as he can remember, so he’s used to it.

The tall buildings when he exits the cellar overwhelm him. The bombing had ruined a lot of houses, even in Eastern Berlin, so he isn’t really used to sights like these. What’s even more surprising is that this is in Western Berlin, where the Communists are hell-bent on starving everyone to death. He guesses PJ just moved into a nice neighbourhood when he went from East to West.

They’ve been a team since they were kids, and some big wall and a few arseholes aren’t going to change that.

“The eldest Lester son has been asking for you,” PJ says from behind him. Dan frowns. It’s been a long time since people have asked for him. He used to frequently plan out escapes, but since the security has sharpened, people are reluctant to try. He gets it, he really does, but most of the people he’s seen around here are so thin and fragile, he doesn’t know what they have to lose.

“Do you think it’s worth checking out?” he asks PJ just to be sure, and PJ nods resolutely like he was expecting the question. PJ’s expression turns grave; a crease appearing between his eyebrows. Dan knows that face. He’d seen it before when PJ talked about what happened during the bombings.

“The Lesters? Definitely,” he says. His tone of voice leaves no room for argument. “If there’s anything worth checking out, it’s the Lesters.”

 

* * * * * 

 

He’s the only one there, standing amidst the rubble. This building is the only one which is fully intact - if you could call it that. The rest of them had been shot or bombed into oblivion. Dan doesn’t understand why. They made mistakes, but is a punishment as grave as this what you call justice? Is letting people starve to death and die of diseases the way to redemption?

He knocks on the wooden door, the sound echoing through the street and bouncing in his ears. He’s almost afraid he’ll hear military boots behind, questioning what he’s doing here. He looks around sharply, but sees nothing but stones and bricks. He looks back to the door. It’s not open yet. The sun is starting to set, colouring the sky and giving his surroundings an eerie colour. He starts to turn away, his stomach twisting with anxiety and the adrenaline of potentially being caught. Someone needs his help, but he’d still like to live as long as possible.

The door creaks open, an eye poking out to look at him. He’s tall, Dan thinks, really tall if he could rival him. “Are you Dan Howell?”

“Yes. Are you the Lester kid?” The guy nods and opens the door, motioning with a bony hand for Dan to come in. Dan frowns. He can see the kid’s ribs through his shirt. His adam’s apple’s poking out from his neck and it looks huge - he wonders when the last time is the kid’s eaten.

He slips in through the door with relative ease - God the kid’s fucking thin - and waits for him to lead the way. The kid walks resolutely past him, not really looking him in the eye. Dan doesn’t blame him. Compared to the kid, he looks like he’s come from paradise - which he has essentially.

The stairs are steep and creak horribly whenever he puts weight on them. He flinches when a mouse runs past him and stumbles, feeling gravity pulling him towards the ground when fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling him back. He blinks. The kid’s surprisingly strong for his skinny frame.

They look at each other for a few seconds and Dan notices it’s quiet, no creaking noises or breathing besides the ones they’re making. The house seems to be void of people.

“Where are your parents?” he asks the kid. The kid looks away again, turning back and walking up the stairs.

“Dead.”

Oh. That’s why PJ was so serious about it. His muscles tense because fuck, this isn’t fair; they don’t deserve to be punished for something their grandparents did. The kid looks like he’s barely sixteen, he doesn’t deserve to be parentless so soon. No kid does.

He wants to ask the kid what happened as a traitorous curiosity bubbles up inside him, but the kid’s already upstairs, looking expectantly down at him when he gathers his wits, and he quickly walks up to the door at the top. The door makes the same creaking noise as the stairs. Shivers wreck his body when he enters the room; there are no windows and cold air flies in with every gust of wind. It doesn’t seem to faze the kid, he just walks to the mattress, sitting down on it and patting the spot next to him. He casts a suspicious glance at the stained and soiled cover. It looks just like the kid: worn down and beaten.

The room’s barren except for a drawer and a few makeshift candles - Dan knows the kid should be happy he even has candles, but they look pathetic, just little stumps rolling on the dirty floor. How is he even alive when he lives like this?

“So,” he starts awkwardly as he leans against the wall. “You’ve been asking for me?”

The kid nods, biting his lip. Dan watches as the kid’s gaze flits around the room for a second - is he looking for an escape? Is this just a ploy to give him to the Russians? - when the kid looks back at him and holds his eyes.

“I want to escape.”

Dan swallows. He expected the kid to say it and normally he would accept without a second thought, but the kid’s so young. He’s not sure if he wants to take that kind of responsibility. The thought of the kid dying because of him makes his stomach turn.

“Why? Do you know how dangerous it is? What you’re getting into? You could die, kid.”

The kid frowns, his eyebrows drawing together on his forehead, and Dan wants to smooth them back. The kid looks old when he does that.

“I’m not a kid anymore, y’know. I’m twenty-five,” the kid says and _oh._ Well, that’s certainly not what Dan was expecting. He gives the kid a once-over, trailing his eyes from the kid’s feet to his chest and face. His face looks so young, despite the angular features.

“There’s no way you’re twenty-five. You look like you’re sixteen,” he chokes out. He just - he looks so fucking young. Dan would definitely be jealous if this wasn’t a time of war. The kid’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he looks offended, his eyes glinting before a dark expression crosses his face. Dan frowns; what did he do wrong?

“I would show you my birth certificate, but I don’t have one.”

Oh. That answers his question. He swallows, glancing away swiftly before looking back at the kid. The kid - no, not a kid, an adult - is watching him closely, observing his every move, but Dan is used to the scrutiny.

“Well what’s your name, kid?”

“I’m _not_ a kid, you prick.”

Dan sighs quietly but the kid keeps looking at him with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting Dan to do something.

“What’s your name?” he asks reluctantly. The kid smiles brightly at him, hands almost clapping together in victory.

“I’m Phil.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Phil.”

Dan glances around the room, the broken windows creaking and the drawer filled with only a few clothes. No, he thinks, it’s not really nice.

“You do realise things like these take months to plan out? You could be dead before you even make it to the Wall,” he tells Phil. Dan doesn’t know why he’s hesitating so much. Normally he’d just leave and start planning, but he really doesn’t want Phil to make the wrong choice.

“I don’t care how long it takes, as long as you get me out of here.”

The kid’s - no, Phil’s - gaze is determined and Dan swallows. He guesses there’s no lack in motivation, whatever that may be.

“Well, now that the formalities are out of the way, I’ll fill you in tomorrow,” Dan says. “I have to be back in West before curfew.”

Phil flinches at that. For the first time, Dan wishes it’d be easier to smuggle someone away from here.

“Right. Uh- bye?”

Dan gets out of the building before he can start to question the painful twist in his stomach.

 

* * * * * 

 

He claps PJ on his shoulder before PJ does this time, and PJ laughs at him and pats him back anyway. He knows he has a shit-eating grin on his face, but the Russians didn’t even bother to fully pat him down before they gave him the green light to cross the border. God, they’re fucking idiots.  

“How did yesterday go?” PJ asks him. Dan raises an eyebrow; he's never refused an offer. He doesn’t know why this would be any different.

“I took the job.”

PJ fills a glass of water for Dan and pretends to be really busy while doing it, but Dan knows it’s just so PJ doesn’t have to look him in the eye. He smirks; the fucking coward knows that Dan’s curious about what happened.

“So you’re going to help him?”

Dan ignores the sick feeling bubbling up when PJ asks him that. He’s asked Dan twice if he was willing to do it, what the fuck’s wrong with him?

“Yeah,” Dan says as PJ thrusts the glass into his hands. “I don’t know if you’ve seen him, but he looks like he hasn’t eaten anything solid for years.”

“He probably hasn’t.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over them as Dan sips his water. They try to avoid talking about how bad people have it because it’s a sore subject for them. When the glass is empty and PJ still hasn’t said anything, Dan clears his throat.

“Do you know what happened to the Lesters?”

The look PJ gives him is an incredulous one, as if he was asking for common knowledge. Dan feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I don’t know anything,” PJ mumbles, touching the corner of his mouth with his hand. “If you want to know something about them, you should ask him yourself.”

They both know it’s a lie, but Dan knows he can’t pressure PJ into saying anything. Dan sighs and rolls his eyes. Sometimes he wonders why he’s still friends with the arsehole.

 

* * * * * 

 

Dan starts to regret his decision to let Phil do this when Phil doesn’t open his door. It stresses him out; he can't let anyone see him walking around here. He’s on enough lists already.

He’s tempted to throw something to create more noise than simply knocking on the door, but that probably would attract a lot of unwanted attention. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face before he walks around the building to the back.

There’s a fire escape on the backside, which would’ve been useful if it wasn't half-collapsed, the steel pockmarked with bullet holes and scrapes left behind by grenade fragments. It reminds him of the remains of a skeleton he’d found when he was digging through the rubble in Eastern Berlin. He shivers, disgust crawling up his spine. It’s not really something he’s eager to relive.

There isn’t really another option than the fire escape, though. Phil’s ‘house’ is the only tall building in the general vicinity, and he’s not going to risk shouting or throwing rocks.

He places his hands on the steel, pushes himself up and grimaces when his hands come off covered with grime. He smears it on his jeans before tentatively taking a step. It creaks suspiciously and he winces before setting one foot before the other, slowly climbing upwards. What an end that’d be: death by fire escape instead of a regular escape. He’d hoped to go a little more heroically, to be honest, but what must be done must be done.

He tenses when he realises there’s a very definite possibility Phil’s either starved to death or gotten arrested. It makes him climb a little faster.

Dan reaches the top with not much hassle and relatively little noise. He grimaces; at least that's one thing going according to the plan.

The window is open, but there’s no Phil in sight. His heart starts pounding away in his head. He quickly steps in. When the floorboards creak loudly under his weight, Dan winces. If there’s someone in this house, they’d certainly notice the noise.

He nearly jumps when there’s some shuffling downstairs; it’s soft and dragging. He hopes that it’s Phil’s feet making that noise and not someone else’s. He quickly sneaks down the stairs. A silhouette in the ‘kitchen’ is moving around and searching the cabinets.

“Phil, are you there?” he whispers when he reaches the door. The person jumps up and hits his head on the cabinet, cursing and falling down. Dan rushes over to him. It’s Phil.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Dan can hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears. His fingers tremble with worry as he grabs Phil’s head and carefully examines the area. It’s probably just a bruise, nothing bad, but it still makes him worry.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Christ!" Phil exclaims. Dan flushes beet-red when Phil looks at him with narrowed eyes. He holds out his hand for Phil to grab and Phil gratefully takes it, wrapping his bony fingers around Dan’s.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to," Dan says apologetically. Phil still looks as though his bony frame is drowning underneath his clothes. His shoulders are broad, but Phil still seems fragile, easily broken.

Dan's not sure if he expected Phil's condition to change. He’d irrationally hoped it would, even if he knew it never would’ve worked, no matter how much he might want it to.

“You better not have meant to,” Phil mumbles, looking down at their interlaced fingers. Dan bites his lip and quickly releases them. He hadn’t released he was still holding Phil's hand. “Why didn’t you just knock?”

Dan raises an eyebrow at Phil and Phil raises one back. It makes his narrow face look sharper than it already is, and Dan wants to smooth it back down.

“I did," Dan responds, "but you didn’t open the door.”

Phil has the decency to look away when Dan says that.

“I’m sorry. I was looking for some spare food, because I didn’t get anything today.”

Dan's good mood promptly disappears and he glances around as if food will magically appear before his eyes. He wants Phil to eat, he wants him to be healthy, _needs_ him to be healthy. If he could, he’d bring Phil food and warmth and shelter every day, but he can’t.

It makes him feel helpless for the first time in years.

“It’s not your fault," Phil says quietly as he stares, head cocked slightly to the side. It makes Dan shift. He isn’t used to being looked at: he always blends in with the crowd, which is a blessing and a curse.

“Why are you here?” Phil asks. Dan’s head shoots up to look at him. “I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but why?” Phil looks slightly uncomfortable in his own kitchen, like he’s been caught unawares.

“To tell you about what we should do.”

“Of course,” Phil says as his angular face lights up. “Tell me all about it.”

He sits down on the counter, patting the space next to him in invitation. Dan hesitates for a bit, knuckles turning white and fingernails digging into his palms before he sits down, holding a respectable distance between them, sitting his ass half on the furnace.

“Scoot over, I won’t bite.”

Dan's face heats up, but he moves closer anyway, Phil’s leg presses up against his. Dan bites his cheek as he feels the boniness of Phil's leg.

“Before I tell you anything, I have to ask you something. You do realise we’ll both die if this fails, right?” Dan asks. He has to - Phil might be just a bit younger than him, but he has to know if he’s willing to go all out with this. Phil’s eyes shoot up to his and there’s a fire burning in them, a fierce determination and he almost growls out a ‘yes.’ Dan has to swallow when his mouth runs dry. Phil looks alive like this.

“Okay,” Dan coughs out hoarsely, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m going to see if I can bribe a soldier, try to get him to let you go.”

Phil lets out a harsh chuckle and Dan feels it reverberate through Phil’s leg into his.

“If it were that simple I would’ve done it myself.”

Dan turns around to glare at him - escaping isn’t simple, there’s nothing about living here that is simple - but he startles when he finds Phil staring at him, their faces inches apart. Phil’s cheekbones are carved into sharp angles, and Dan wants to run his finger over them.

“It’s not simple. You just have to know the right people,” Dan retorts. Phil huffs. Dan glares at him before continuing, “And have a lot of money.”

Phil blushes - with embarrassment or fury, Dan doesn’t know - and Dan feels like a prick. The money comment was underhanded.

“Which you have because you don’t live here," Phil says. His voice is small and vulnerable; it sounds the same as he looks. Dan wants to wrap him up in a blanket and tell him everything’ll be okay. Phil keeps staring at the broken tiles on the floor, twiddling with his thumbs, and it makes Dan want to apologise.

“Right,” he says. “I’ll see you when I have some more news.”

The pit in his stomach doesn’t open when Phil doesn’t say anything and he walks away, it _doesn’t_.

 

* * * * * 

 

**November, 1988:**

The house in front of Dan has the curtains drawn, which makes his stomach twist with dread. It’s not like his previous - and now deceased - contacts hadn’t had a very private store. Smuggling people from one side to the other is a shady and dangerous business, after all, but there’s something about this place that gives him a bad feeling.

A shiver runs down his spine and he clutches his coat tighter, pretending it's from the rain instead of being uncomfortable. He doesn’t have any other choice; it’s either this or doing it alone, and PJ said this guy was trustworthy so he probably is. At least, Dan hopes so.

The door creaks when he opens it, and he takes one last glance at the outside world before he enters. It kind of reminds him of PJ’s basement: dusty, smelly, and devoid of sunlight. People too, apparently, because Dan seems to be the only one in here.

“Hello?” he calls out, his voice sounding too loud in the dark room. The store remains empty, the only sign of life the ticking off the clock on the wall. His heart is pounding in his ears. What if this is a trap, what if they’re onto him, what if—

“I presume you’re PJ’s friend?”

Dan jumps, turning around to look at the owner of the store. He’s about Dan’s age, with a floppy fringe and a predatory smile. Dan shivers again.

“Yeah, how did you know?” he asks suspiciously. The owner’s smile gets wider.

“A little birdie told me. Now, what are you looking for?”

He opens his mouth, hesitating. There’s something about this guy that makes him want to run the fuck out of there. He’s helped a lot of escape agents though, and almost none of them got caught. Dan doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but that’s positive, right?

“I need a contact to bribe."

The guy frowns, before smirking at him. It makes Dan feel like he’s missed something obvious.

“You’re the guy who brings bikes to PJ, right?” the guy asks; Dan nods in response. “Well, you’re in luck. You’re familiar with the guards so they’ll be focusing less on you when you walk past.”

He nods again, thinking back to the chocolate bar he’d been able to smuggle into Eastern Berlin a week ago. It’s still at PJ’s, and he would’ve allowed PJ to eat it if he hadn’t wanted to give it to Phil.

“Okay, good,” the guy says before continuing. “Do you know that one bald guy? His name is Pavel, Pavel Martinovic Avilov. I think you’ll be able to win him over.”

Dan hums, repeating the name in his head—Pavel Martinovic Avilov, Pavel Martinovic Avilov—before smiling, carefully, at the guy.

“Well, thanks for your help. I’ll be off now.”

The guy smirks again and makes a tutting noise as he grips Dan’s arm.

“An eye for an eye.” Dan doesn’t like the guy’s smirk. “Who’s your client?”

That—well, Dan certainly hadn’t expected _that_. He tenses and grabs the guy’s wrist, trying to get him to release his bruising grip. “It’s none of your business," he growls.

He glares at the guy when his fingers tighten on Dan’s arm. What if he’d put Phil in danger by mentioning his name? He’d never forgive himself; he promised Phil that he'd get him over safely, and he isn’t about to let that get ruined by one measly mistake.

“Come on, can’t a guy have a little fun?”

He tenses even further, twisting the guy’s wrist until he yelps and lets go.

“No, and certainly not if hearing the names of potential escapees gives you a kick.”

The guy looks up at him, eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t mean it like that, y’know,” the guy says, his voice small, but Dan glares at him.

“You said it regardless.”

It’s silent after that and Dan turns around to walk away, but the guy is quicker and runs to the door, effectively stopping Dan from going through.

“You might want to mention a name, or I might just let something slip.”

And really, the fucking asshole has the audacity to look smug when Dan glares. Dan wants to punch the living daylights out of him, but he refrains from doing so. The guy’d probably let a few Russian soldiers ‘accidentally’ know of Dan’s plan.

“Fuck you,” he grits out through his teeth. He feels his throat constricting around the words as he tries to get them out. “It’s Phil Lester.”

The guy’s eyes widen at the name. Dan has to bite back a swear. Why does everyone know about the Lester family but him? He’s about to ask the guy, but he frantically shoves Dan out the door.

“Hey!” Dan hisses. “I want to know why the Le-“

The guy’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head. Dan shuts up.

“Find a guy called Dean. He’ll tell you about it if you say ‘I’m not afraid’ and tilt your head upwards. Now go, and don’t ever mention that name here _again_.”

The door of the shop closes before Dan can open his mouth; the rain drenches him, and he pulls his coat tighter around him.

Fucking asshole.

 

* * * * * 

 

The creepy store-owner was right, as it turns out. Dan gained the trust of the Russian soldiers over the past couple of years, so they don’t even notice the money he keeps in the secret pocket of his coat, too occupied with half-heartedly searching through the bag of sand. The only one who does notice is Pavel.

“Good afternoon,” Dan says in the fragmented Russian he’s picked up over the last few years. “Are you Pavel Martinovic Avilov?”

The guy in front of him stares him down, eyebrows raised. He looks impressed.

“Da,” he replies. “What do you want?”

His stomach tightens. This is it.

“Well I have a,” he starts, eyeing Pavel warily, “situation, so to speak. And I was wondering if you could help me solve it.”

Pavel raises an eyebrow as he crosses his large arms over each other. Dan’s a few inches taller, but he’s never felt so small before.

“What are you offering?”

Dan grabs the money from his pocket, struggling with the compartment a bit. Pavel eyes it hungrily.

“That’s 2000 mark. Help me and my friend, and it’s yours.”

“Deal.”

Dan smiles. Sometimes the Russian soldiers were just so _easy_.

 

* * * * * 

 

Dan takes the fire escape again. The stairs are slippery, and his hands are smeared with grease once again. He wipes them on his jeans.

He climbs through the window, a smile tugging at his lips when he sees Phil in the room.

“Phil?”

Phil jumps, turning around with wide eyes and melodramatically clutching his hand to his chest.

“Jesus! How do you always manage to slip in so soundlessly?”

Dan smirks, arching an eyebrow. Phil’s bony fingers are gesturing wildly around, and Dan follows their path — past the drawer to the mould on the ceiling and back — and winces.

“Hard work and determination," he responds.

Phil raises an eyebrow at him and Dan feels his cheeks flush. The lighting makes Phil look like a ghost.

“Thanks for checking up on me, but I don’t need your help,” Phil frowns. Dan feels something in his heart tug.

“I thought that was why I was here?”

He wants to be useful to Phil, doesn’t want him to think of Dan as useless, because Phil needs help and Dan’s going to give it to him.

“I need your help escaping, not surviving. I’ve been managing to do that for two years on my own.”

The words hit Dan like a ton of bricks. Phil’s been living alone for two years, starving and cold.

“I know, but you’re my responsibility now.”

Phil smiles tentatively at him and Dan smiles back, his hand moving towards Phil on its own accord. Phil flinches when Dan’s fingers brush over his. Dan moves away quickly.

“See you,” is the only thing Dan gets out before he's running away again.

What the _fuck_ is he doing?

 

* * * * * 

 

**December, 1988:**

The building in front of him isn’t really a building - not anymore. It looks more like a bunch of bricks on top of a cellar, as far as Dan can see. The guy in front of him looks weathered, his jeans full of smears and his cheeks hollowed. He kind of reminds Dan of Phil.

“What are you doing here?” the guys asks him. His voice is surprisingly gentle, a complete contrast to his appearance, and it throws Dan off balance.

“I’m looking for Dean.”

The guy frowns; his dark eyebrows furrow over his eyes and his back hunches. A chill shoots down Dan’s spine.

“Do you think this is a joke, kid?” he snarls. He steps forward, circling slowly around Dan. He feels like prey, watching the guy glare at him, walking on the tips of his toes like he’s going to jump on Dan.

“No,” he says, but he can’t hide the waver in his voice. The guy’s glare deepens.

“Then leave before you get hurt.”

Dan resolutely shakes his head, trying to steel himself. He glares back and the guy smirks at him, challenging him to do something, anything.

“I’m not afraid,” Dan says, tilting his head upwards and looking down at the guy through his eyelashes, seeing the guy stiffen.

“This way,” he says; he places a hand on Dan’s back, pushing him forward.

Dan wonders if he’ll get out of here alive.

 

* * * * *

 

The guy with the eyebrows leads him to Dean. That guy doesn’t even look different than any of them. He doesn’t know what he expected, but certainly not a skinny thirty year old that could fit inside of him twice. Dan shifts under the gaze of Dean’s glinting eyes.

“Why are you here?”

It’s not insulting, or even judging, but Dan still feels the need to weigh his options. Dean is watching his every move, every breath he takes.

“I’m here to ask about the Lesters.”

Dean runs forward, grabbing Dan’s collar and almost slamming him against a wall. No matter how hard Dan struggles, Dean won't let go.

“Where did you get that name?” Dean asks. Dan stays quiet. “Answer me, damn it.”

Dan’s skull hits the wall with a hard thud; he wrenches Dean’s wrist away from his shirt. Dean’s still glaring at him and he glares back.

“I’m helping Phil.”

Dean’s back straightens, but his glare doesn’t lessen. Dan gets the idea that everyone here looks like a wolf with their every action; it certainly wouldn’t surprise him.

“Help him how?” Dean asks, his voice normal again. Dan shifts.

“He asked me if I could get him to the other side.”

Dean’s eyes soften and he looks down at his shoes, or whatever he's wearing, which aren’t shoes in Dan’s opinion.

“Phil’s parents died because of me.”

It’s quietly spoken, but Dan has never heard anything more loudly than this. Dean won’t look at him, won’t look at anything other than his feet and Dan has to resist the urge to slam _him_ against a wall.

“How?”

Dean looks up, his eyes vulnerable and filled with tears. He reminds Dan of his younger brother, and Dan’s suddenly glad he’s safe in the other side of the country.

“I convinced them to join us, to join the resistance. They were out, running an errand for me with Phil when-” a tear slips down Dean’s cheek and he wipes it away. “When they got caught by Russian soldiers. Phil survived, but his parents-”

Dan’s head is spinning, blood rushing to his head. Everything’s too loud: his breathing, Dean’s sniffles, because _fuck_ , Phil’s parents are dead because they protected Phil.

He’s out of the cellar before Dean can stop him.

 

* * * * *

 

It’s way past curfew - the darkness surrounds him and cloaks him like he’s an old friend - but Dan couldn’t care less. All that matters right now is Phil. His footsteps are echoing through the alleyway, his heart beat the loudest sound. His head is filled with a constant mantra of ‘Phil Phil Phil’.

“Hey!” someone behind him shouts. Footsteps speed up behind him, but Dan keeps going until his lungs threaten to collapse. The ground thrums with life underneath him, the constant thumping of army boots mixing with the pounding in his head. He can’t give up now; he can almost see Phil’s “house”.

He’d never thought he’d be glad to see the ruins, but he can’t help the feeling of relief that blooms in his chest when he sees the mouldy walls and the broken windows. It’s fucking December, and it must be so cold for Phil.

His heart beat picks up again; Phil is alone in the dark and the cold, with nothing more with a flimsy piece of fabric that barely substitutes for a blanket.

The fire escape creaks when he steps on it, but he doesn’t care about falling. Phil’s the only thing that’s important right now.

The room’s still chilly - even more so since it’s December - but nothing else has changed. Phil lies on the mattress, shivering violently and whimpering. Something in Dan’s chest growls. It pushes him to do something, to wake Phil up and stop his nightmare, because now he knows what happened.

“Phil?” he says carefully; he flinches back when Phil whimpers. His fingers ghost over the skin of Phil’s shoulder, goose bumps appearing wherever he goes. Phil whimpers even more. “Phil, please, it’s a dream. Wake up.” He’s shaking Phil’s shoulder now, Phil’s body shaking back and forth until he stiffens and scrambles away from Dan, blunt fingernails scratching over Dan’s hand.

“Please,” Phil begs, his eyes filled with terror and pleading. “Please don’t hurt them.”

“Phil?” Dan begins when Phil won’t look at him, shivering in the cold wind. “Phil, it’s me. It’s Dan.”

Phil’s whimpers quiet down until the only sound coming from him are sobs. He looks hollow in the moonlight, curled in on himself in a corner like a shadow of his former self. Dan moves forward again; he puts his hand on Phil’s shoulder, stroking over the bony knob of Phil’s bone.

Phil suddenly lurches forward into him, knocking him down to the ground as he tries to bury himself into Dan. Dan feels his heart clench. His arms tremble as he moves them around Phil’s narrow waist.

“It’s okay now,” Dan shushes, hoping it might ease Phil’s trembling. “I’m here. It’s okay.” Phil’s chokes on a sob, a pathetic sound that fills the room and sends shivers through his fragile body. Dan feels his chest squeeze again, and he runs a hand through Phil’s hair and presses a kiss atop his head. “I’m going to get you out of here, Phil. I promise.”

  

 * * * * *

 

He’s putting on his boots when Phil wakes up. The dark smudges under his eyes accentuate the sharpness of his cheekbones. Dan wants to stay, but he knows he can’t.

“What happened last night?” Phil asks, his voice hoarse with sleep and disuse. Dan tries for a smile.

“Nothing important.”

Phil looks down at his shoes, watches his fingers move and fumble with the laces. He looks disappointed, for some unknown reason, and Dan sighs.

“I learned about what happened to your parents," he says quietly.

Phil’s head shoots up, his eyes wild and panicked, darting around the room but ultimately returning to meet Dan’s.

“Oh,” he says, biting his lip. Dan wants him to say more; he wants to grab Phil’s shoulders and shake them until Phil tells him everything and trusts Dan.

They’re quiet after that. Dan doesn’t know what to say. Phil smiles at him with his dull eyes. Like an ‘oh’ fixes everything.

The laces slip into the holes easily after that, and Dan stands, brushing some lint off of his trousers. Phil looks expectantly at him but Dan doesn’t know what to say.

“Why did you come last night?” Phil asks him. Dan isn’t sure Phil wants to know the real answer to that question.

“I came here to tell you the preparations are ready. We can leave soon.”

Phil smiles, his face lighting up and glowing with the life he seems so void of. He almost seems - happy, for the lack of a better word.

“Thanks,” Phil says quietly; Dan sees his eyes fill with silent tears. He pulls Dan into a hug, his bony fingers scraping over Dan’s back. Dan touches his shoulder blades, two hard planes sticking from his back and crushes Phil against him.

He isn’t sure if he’s ready for Phil to leave, because that’d mean Dan can’t come back.

 

* * * * * 

 

**January, 1989:**

The snow crunches under his boots. It makes him nauseous; the sound of bones snapping under the boots of soldiers was the same.

Dan despises winter. You can’t walk around without leaving footprints or something else behind that traces back to you. It makes escape harder.

Today though, Dan is buzzing with energy. He can feel it under his skin, wrestling its way through his body whenever his heavy pockets bump against his sides.

PJ grins at him when he arrives and claps a hand on his shoulder, but Dan doesn’t miss the way that his fingers linger a little longer than normal. Dan can see why; he’s scared too, but fuck, he wants Phil get the hell away from here.

“Good luck,” PJ says, his voice low. Dan smiles wryly at him. This might be the last time he ever sees PJ again.

PJ smiles back at him. Dan turns up his coat collar, burying his cold nose in the material, with PJ staring at him the entire time.

 

* * * * * 

 

“Phil?”

He barely gets out the word before Phil is standing by his side, wrapped in his ‘blanket’ and his own arms. He looks more alive than ever. “God, this is really happening," he whispers with a bit of awe.

After he smiles at Phil, Dan slips his arms out of his coat, offering it to Phil. Phil looks at him like he’s crazy, but he grabs the coat and puts it on anyway.

“It is,” Dan responds with a smile, but his voice trembles a bit. “Want me to show you what we’re going to do?”

Phil looks up from where he buried his nose in Dan’s coat, and Dan can’t help but think he looks strangely adorable.

“Definitely,” Phil says as he practically bounces up the stairs. Dan looks at him before following him.

He isn’t sure if he thinks of Phil as brave for taking a chance that _maybe_ he could escape, or crazy for wanting to sacrifice his life for something like this.

 

* * * * * 

 

It’s dark, but the border is practically glowing, the light from the lamps gleaming off the barbed wire. Phil grabs his hand, practically stopping his blood flow with the pressure, but Dan can’t complain because he’s doing the same.

As they walk closer, Dan discreetly and wordlessly directs Phil towards Pavel. Dan’s nails dig into his palm. His heart beats fast. A soldier stops to look at them, and Dan smiles and greets him in Russian.

Pavel smirks at them when they reach him, raising an eyebrow at Dan and opening his palm. Dan has to bite his cheek—the bastard looks way too fucking smug for his own good—as his sweaty hands reach for the money in his pocket.

“I’m bringing my cousin with me to Western Berlin. I brought him with me this morning.”

Some soldiers look over at them, and Dan prays to any deity out there that his voice was loud enough to hide the underlying current of nerves.

Phil remains quiet. He’s trying his best to hide his nervousness and fear, but Dan can see him fidgeting with his hands.

“Okay,” Pavel says; he steps up to Phil, his hands moving around under Phil’s coat.

Phil trembles and chews on his lip. If he could, Dan would push Pavel off of him. Instead, he stares forward, hoping Pavel will keep true to his word.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when Pavel moves over to him, the tension in his shoulders lessening. He’s done this a thousand times, but Phil looks like he’s going to make a break for it any second now.

Pavel greedily grabs for the money with his hands under Dan’s coat, and Dan presses it into his sweaty fingers.

“All good,” Pavel murmurs. He presses a button, opening the borders and letting them pass through. Soldiers stare at them left and right, and Dan shrinks under their gaze, pulling Phil into him.

Phil is trembling against his side, his hands grabbing for purchase at Dan’s coat as they walk into Western Berlin.

Dan can hardly believe it. He's watching as Phil’s eyes widen when he sees everything: the roads, the houses. He has to stop him from running around and screaming.

“We did it,” Phil breathes, grinning at him. His eyes are twinkling, his hands moving around and Dan wants to clasp them in his own, wants to tug Phil closer and kiss him.

Dan hums, leaning down slightly, and Phil stares up at him, his eyes big and filled with confusion and happiness. One of Phil’s trembling hands comes up to rest on his chest, crumpling the fabric there and fuck, fuck, what is he _doing_?

“Yeah, we did,” Dan grins and he leans back, pretending not to see the—disappointed? panicked?—look in Phil’s eyes. “Now, let's get you somewhere safe and warm.”

 

* * * * * 

 

The walk to his apartment seems shorter than it used to be. He can still feel the rush of the adrenaline, the constant buzzing under his skin and the paranoia of being followed, and he looks back every time he hears a noise.

Phil catches his eye every time, the smile never once leaving his face. Dan smiles back at him. He likes seeing Phil happy with a flush on his bony cheeks. He keeps looking around, taking everything in with a light in his eyes that ignites a fire inside Dan.

His hand brushes against Phil’s as they walk side by side; he resists the urge to link their fingers, chalking it up to the remaining adrenaline giving him insane ideas.

He stands on the front porch, not daring to look at Phil. His fingers tap a silent rhythm against his pant leg, and Phil's eyes drift over to them for a second before shooting back to look at both of their shoes. It’s a sad contrast against the crisp white of the now around them. Dan almost wants to stay here - just so they don’t disturb the smoothness of the snowflakes on the ground, of course, not because he doesn’t want to say goodbye to Phil.

“Well,” Phil says, his voice trembling softly. Dan’s eyes shoot up to look at him. “I guess this is it then.”

Dan nods, not trusting himself to say anything in case he blurts out something stupid. He pretends not to notice Phil’s dejected sigh. The warm fingers pressed against his rapidly thrumming pulse on the side of his neck are almost a welcome distraction from the cold reality of this final goodbye.

“Thanks. For everything.”

Phil’s arms circle his shoulders before he can even comprehend what’s happening. Dan fingers rub soft circles over Phil’s shoulder blades, tracing the outlines of them. He almost wishes Phil wouldn’t let him go.

Phil softly pushes against his shoulder, breaking the embrace, and they stare at each other until Phil ducks his head, scratching it with bony fingers.

“I should start looking for a place to live then, I think.”

“Or you could maybe live with me for a while?” Dan tentatively asks and fuck, what did he just say about being stupid? His heart beats wildly as he stares at Phil in panic. He wants Phil to say no, wants him to pull back and tell Dan he’s going to live his own life now, but instead Phil bites his lip and smiles.

“That’d be great, actually.”

“It’s settled then,” Dan says and hopes neither his voice nor his face betray his nerves as he motions for Phil to come in.

He doesn’t know why he’s so scared, apart from the fact that this is such a bad idea and they’re both going to get hurt by this in the long run. He’s seen Phil’s “house”, if you can call it that, so many times and he knows that while his apartment isn’t much, it’s so much better than where Phil’s been living for the past few years.

It always looks a bit sombre to him when he enters it at night with the lights out, the only thing greeting him a table with uncomfortable wooden chairs. The sofa is behind that, but it’s a mere silhouette in the darkness and impossible to see if you don’t know it’s there.

“Sorry, it’s not much.”

His words hang in the air as he sees Phil shift his gaze from the scarce furniture to him, Phil’s eyes seem burn into his head like he thinks Dan’s insane.

“Are you kidding me?” Phil says. “This is more than I could’ve ever asked for.”

The gratefulness in his voice makes Dan swallow. He’s never known how to deal with compliments. Instead of thanking Phil, he says, “There’s a guest room in the door on the right. I’ll bring you some pyjamas in a second.”

Phil smiles at him, his eyes twinkling even in the darkness; Dan has the inane urge to run his fingers over Phil’s cheekbones. Phil leans forward slightly, his fingers softly pressing on Dan’s shoulder.

“Thanks, again.”

“No problem,” Dan chokes out as Phil moves past him, his fingers lingering a little longer than they should have - though that might just be Dan’s imagination. As he stares at Phil's retreating back, there’s only one thing Dan can think.

He wants Phil to be happy.

 

* * * * *

 

**February, 1989:**

It’s weird, how natural this all feels to him. For as long as he can remember, he’s always been alone. He didn’t have someone living in his apartment, cooking and eating and cleaning. Yet, living with Phil doesn’t seem weird.

He mostly likes watching Phil run around his apartment, ecstatic every time he discovers something he’s missed. Mostly, though, he likes watching Phil smile.

Phil’s filled out in the last month, growing into himself and look more like a twenty-five year old than child he appeared to be before; every time he smiles, Dan feels his stomach twist and his cheeks heat. He doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t think he wants to know.

He just likes watching Phil, that’s all.

He’s caught Phil staring at him too, sometimes. Phil smiles at him before he looks away, his cheeks tinted a faint red.

Phil’s bustling around right now, trying to make some sort of dish from a half-remembered recipe. Dan has the urge to walk up behind him and lay his head on Phil’s shoulder, to hug him and kiss him and—

“Dan?” Phil asks, his brow furrowed as he stares at Dan. “I asked you if you had another case to work on tonight?”

Dan smiles, resisting the impulse to hide his face behind a hand. “Not tonight, but I have to do another bike delivery tomorrow.”

Phil’s smile is blinding, his eyes twinkling and it makes something in Dan’s chest bloom. He keeps staring at Phil, unable to look away, even when Phil turns back to make dinner.

“I might have some exciting news tomorrow,” Phil says and oh? That’s something he didn’t know, and he’s not sure if he wants to. Phil won’t meet his eyes and it worries him.

“Hey,” he says and walks over to Phil, gently grabbing his wrist. “It’s not a bad thing, is it?”

Phil shakes his head, bashfully looking down. “It’s not, but it might be really important.”

Dan nods, dropping Phil’s wrist, his fingers reluctantly moving away from Phil’s wrist. The skin tingles with the heat of Phil’s skin.

They eat dinner in silence.

 

* * * * *

 

Dan feels nervous for some reason. Well, he does actually know the reason, but he’d rather not. He doesn’t want to know what’s important according to Phil. He wants everything to remain the same, but he’s sure that today, everything will change.

Pavel looks at him questioningly, like he wants to know what happened. Dan quickly nods before walking into the familiar territory of Western Berlin. It makes him think of how excited Phil was to see all of this, how he practically danced through the street with a childlike happiness he’d lost long ago.

The nerves return full-force when he opens the door to his apartment and he sees Phil already waiting for him, a smile on his face, his cheeks red and his eyes twinkling; Dan’s heart leaps in his chest. He wants Phil to always look like that.

“I got it, Dan!” Phil nearly shouts, brimming with excitement. He grabs Dan by the wrist, pulling him in and hugging him firmly. Dan can’t help but smile at Phil’s enthusiasm; he buries his head in Phil’s neck as his fingers trace Phil’s shoulder blades.

“What did you get?” His voice is strung tight with nerves; he’d be surprised if Phil didn’t hear it.

“I got my own apartment.”

Dan freezes, his muscles tensing. Fuck, he knew this was coming, he knew Phil couldn’t stay with him forever, _wouldn’t_ stay with him forever, but it still hits him hard.

“That’s great,” he says, hoping he sounds vaguely happy. He puts on a fake smile for Phil, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut.

“I know! I think I’m going to move in tomorrow. I’m so excited for this; this is what my parents always wanted for me!” Phil takes a deep breath before he continues, his bright eyes trailing downward. “You're going to visit me, right?”

Dan knows that he should say no, he can't do that. He should stay away from Phil, shouldn’t start commitments, shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep, but as he looks at Phil’s hopeful eyes, he says, “Yes.”

Phil smiles, pulling him into another short hug before running to his bedroom—the guest room, Dan reminds himself - and gathering the few belongings he has. Dan swallows.

Maybe this is selfish, but he doesn’t want Phil to go.

 

* * * * *

 

**March, 1989:**

Honestly, Dan never thought he’d be jealous of an apartment, but every time he walks into Phil’s, there’s an ugly feeling in his chest. It's better than what Dan could offer, but it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

It’s a Wednesday and Phil’s next to him with his head on Dan’s shoulder. He fell asleep a few minutes ago, and Dan can’t bear the thought of waking him. Instead, he rests his head atop Phil’s and closes his eyes.

He’s asleep before he knows it.

 

* * * * * 

  

“Did I fall asleep on you again?” Phil yawns, stretching his sore muscles and he hears a few of them popping. Sleeping upright on a sofa isn’t a good idea, but he’d rather sleep on a sofa with Phil than sleeping without Phil at all.

“You did," Dan responds, shifting into a more upright position.

He rubs at his eyes, watching Phil do the same. It feels natural, somehow, sleeping together like this. It makes him feel warm, along with something else he can’t really name.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says, his voice hoarse with sleep. Something dark twists in Dan’s gut. “I should really stop doing that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dan says, because he _really_ doesn’t want him to. Phil stares at him for a second before looking away, walking into the kitchen to grab himself - and maybe Dan too - some breakfast.

“Do you have another bike delivery today?” Phil shouts from the kitchen. He makes it sound so normal, like he’s used to this.

“Yeah, sorry. See you again tonight?”

Phil comes out of the kitchen, bowl of cereal in hand and smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Of course.”

 

* * * * * 

 

He knocks hesitantly at the door of Phil’s apartment with guilt churning in his stomach. He hasn’t seen Phil in a week, too preoccupied with the planning of someone else's escape. Dan's scared that Phil’s angry at him for leaving, when he promised he wouldn’t.

A shuffling noise comes from down the hall, accompanied by the noisy jangling of keys, and Dan takes a deep breath, holding it inside of him. When Phil opens the door, Dan crumbles. Phil’s wearing a jumper; he's unshaven and red-eyed, and he’s staring at Dan like he doesn’t believe he’s here.

“Hi?” Dan tentatively says, more a question than a statement. Phil blinks and reaches a hand out to touch Dan’s arm, trailing his fingers over the soft fabric before collapsing into him, his arms wrapping around Dan in a bone-crushing hug.

“I thought you were dead," Phil gasps. Dan feels like someone’s punched him. The breath escapes Dan's lungs as Phil’s fingers scrabble at his back. Phil’s trembling, his head buried in Dan’s shoulder, and Dan can feel the wetness of Phil’s tears dampen the fabric of his jumper. It reminds him of the last time they sat together like this, when Phil was alone and scared. All he'd wanted was someone who would comfort him.

“Hey,” Dan says, bringing one hand up to brush through Phil’s hair. “I’m here now. I’m still alive, it’s okay.”

Phil lets out a whimpering noise and sinks into Dan, who guides both them to the ratty sofa in Phil’s apartment. Phil curls into him, covering him like a blanket, and his breathing quiets until Dan’s shushing noises are the only ones filling the silence.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a while. Phil nods with his eyes cast downward. Dan pulls him close and keeps running his hands through Phil’s hair because he wants Phil to be close to him as possible.

“I’m sorry for being so stupid." Phil's whisper breaks through the quiet air.

He freezes, the hand in Phil’s hair pausing. If anything, it was Dan’s fault for staying away so long. “It’s not stupid,” he says. Phil snorts, a dry chuckle escaping him. Dan tenses. “I’m serious, it’s not.” He waits a few beats until Phil looks up at him with teary eyes. “You know I’d never leave you, right?”

Phil continues to stare at him, and Dan’s the one who looks away this time. He can still feel Phil’s eyes boring a hole into his head.

“I’m sorry I was gone,” he starts and he feels Phil shift into a more comfortable position beside him. “I was planning another escape. I don’t know if you know them, but it’s for the Laheys.”

Phil lays a hand on his shoulder and says, “I do. Isaac used to be my best friend before-” He stops midsentence, but Dan hears the unsaid words. He covers Phil’s hand with his own and squeezes it, smiling at him as he turns to fully face Phil. Phil stares at him, a soft look as he leans forward. Dan leans back on his elbows, the fabric of the sofa scratching slightly at his skin.

“What are you doing?” Dan's voice is breathless. Phil smirks in response, crawling over Dan until Dan’s lying on his back, his head caged in between Phil’s arms. They’re close, almost too close, and Dan tries to squirm out from under him, but Phil pins him down until there’s nowhere he can go.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Phil responds with a smirk; chuckling at Dan’s expression, he slides down a bit, trailing open-mouthed kisses over Dan’s neck. Dan feels too hot, too suffocated as he fists a hand in Phil’s jumper.

“I don’t- what-” He’s officially losing his mind; Phil's nose nudges Dan's jaw before Dan yanks him down and kisses him. Phil’s mouth is warm and wet. Dan loses himself, his nails digging into Phil's shoulders as Phil presses him into the sofa. His arms come up behind Phil’s back, trailing over the fabric before slipping underneath. He can feel the shift of Phil’s shoulder blades as Phil leans down, kissing him like his life depends on it.

They break apart, panting for air. He can feel Phil’s shoulders rising and falling with every breath. When Dan glances up, Phil is staring at him, pupils blown and lips swollen from kissing. Dan’s heart stutters, and he can’t look away. Unconsciously, Dan licks his lips, leaning up slightly, drawn in by the heat of Phil’s gaze.

“Phil?” he asks in a whisper. Phil’s hand clenches on his hip, digging into the skin almost painfully. Phil’s eyes flutter shut. Dan gulps in a deep breath and glances between them. The bulge in Phil’s jeans is impossible to ignore. “Phil,” he groans, his hand moving upwards to grip the hairs at the back of Phil’s neck.

“Can I-" Phil asks with questioning eyes, and Dan runs a hand through Phil's hair, his chest brushing against Phil’s with every breath he takes. He can feel Phil’s pulse hammering against his fingers.

“Yeah, please, I need-”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Phil breathes before kissing him again, his body grinding against Dan’s as Dan loses himself in the delicious taste and the feeling of Phil rolling his hips against Dan’s. Phil moves back to his neck and flicks his tongue over the sensitive skin, making Dan gasp. He curls his fingers, clutching at the dark, fine strands of Phil's hair. Excitement curls in his belly at the pressure of Phil’s teeth against his skin and his fingers clench involuntarily, a silent ‘okay yes go ahead _please_ ’ as Phil nips, making Dan rock his hips up into Phil’s.

Phil moans against the side of Dan's neck and slides down the sofa until he reaches the front of Dan's trousers. “Can I blow you?” he asks, his eyes all pupil and he looks so _wrecked_. Dan whimpers, a ‘yes please’ and a ‘fuck, I did that’ combined.

Phil presses Dan's legs apart, nudging his face between them. Dan lets out a gasp at the tantalising feeling, despite the fact that he’s still wearing pants. Phil’s hands slide up his inner thighs, hot against his skin. His fingers squeeze Dan’s hard-on roughly before shoving down his pants and boxers.

“Holy shit,” Dan gasps, the words curling into a whimper at the end as Phil sucks him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. When Phil starts to bob his head up and down the length of Dan’s cock, Dan arches his back in response, forcing his cock further into Phil’s mouth. Phil groans around his length and grips his hips, pinning them down to the sofa.

“Fuck,” Dan groans as he feels his balls tighten. He tugs on Phil’s hair as a warning, but Phil only makes a pleased sound around his cock, hands tightening around Dan’s hips to draw him in closer. The pleasure burns through his veins until it becomes too much, and he comes into Phil’s mouth.

Phil grins up at him; he's still hard, but his trousers are unbuttoned, his hand frantically moving over his cock. Dan feels boneless, but he shifts towards Phil and wraps a hand around his cock, rubbing his thumb over the slit as he moves up until Phil orgasms, Dan’s name on his lips.

They rest against the sofa for a while, Phil’s head slumped against his shoulder, his breath warming Dan’s skin. Dan feels strangely peaceful here, with Phil at his side and no danger around.

“Phil?” he asks, his voice hoarse. Phil hums in response, the sound vibrating against Dan’s skin, and Dan giggles. “Maybe we should move.”

Phil lifts his hand to point at a door and mumbles something that vaguely resembles ‘bedroom.' Dan smiles, lifting Phil and himself off the floor. Phil immediately leans against him, his arm around Dan’s shoulder.

For the first time in a while, he feels like everything will be okay.

 

* * * * *

 

The walls are grey. They’re grey and they’re not his because his are green. He jumps up, scrambling on the bed before he hears a coffee pot and sees a glimpse of a familiar living room and - oh. He’s in Phil’s apartment.

He stretches and rises from the bed, the smell of coffee reaching his nose and driving him forward. Phil’s standing with his back to him, not looking at him and Dan smiles, walking towards him when his leg brushes against the sofa.

He gulps as the memories come rushing back to him, the way that fabric felt as Phil blew him and-

“I hope you slept well,” Phil says and it’s friendly, gentle, and exactly not what Dan needs when he’s freaking out. He nods, staring at the sofa before turning his eyes to Phil’s, seeing them shine with worry.

“Are you okay?”

Dan shakes his head, leaning against the sofa. Everything’s too much, Phil’s too much. He can’t do this, either he gets hurt or Phil does and then it’ll all be his fault and fuck, he can’t do this.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, fighting for air as he fists his hands in his hair, tugging at it. “I’m sorry, I’m-”

Phil sets down the cup of coffee, laying a hand on his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. “What are you sorry for?”

“I can’t do this.”

He can feel Phil freeze beneath him, feels Phil’s hand clench against his back. The familiar feeling in his gut is back again, twisting and turning and making him feel like shit, but he can’t be with Phil, he just _can’t_.

“Listen, Dan,” Phil says after a while, when Dan’s stopped panicking and Phil’s stopped flinching every time Dan moves. He steps back, making Dan look him in the eye. “Thank you for everything.”

Those four words break Dan’s resolve. This isn’t fair; he isn’t ready to let go yet. Without thinking, he reaches out and pulls Phil towards him by the front of his jumper. Phil’s lips are placid underneath his, and he quickly pulls away again, mumbling an “I’m sorry” against Phil’s mouth before walking out the door.

He doesn't look back.

 

* * * * * 

 

**November, 1989:**

Dan can’t believe it. The Wall has fallen. Everyone around him is partying, jumping, chanting, and he loses himself in it and participates. The graffiti on the Wall is colourful and it reminds him of what’s happening. The Wall is going to be torn down. He’s not going to die.

He laughs, throwing his head back. He feels utterly happy for the first time in months, euphoria singing through him; he’s high on it, and he doesn’t ever want this to end. Dan watches people take pieces of the Wall with them by chipping them off, and at one part there’s a large hole because of people doing it. He’s tempted to do the same. He wants to do anything in his power to participate in tearing it down.

The guy in front of him looks like Phil, if he squints enough. He’s been doing that a lot recently; he hasn’t seen Phil in seven months, and he wants to see him again. This guy is stronger though, bigger, healthier, with glasses and stubble and-

The guy is staring at him.

“Dan?” he says. “Dan, is that you?”

Dan stops, everything stops, everything except the guy in front of him. He sees the twinkle in the guy’s eyes, the shine of his black hair and _fuck_ , it’s _Phil_.

“ _Phil_?”

Phil laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound, one that makes Dan ache. He’s missed seeing Phil, missed hearing his laugh. Phil beams at him, his face lighting up and he grabs Dan’s jumper, pulling him forward and kissing him.

Dan makes a surprised sound against Phil’s mouth and Phil chuckles before parting his lips, and Dan lets him open his. He fists a hand in Phil’s hair, tugging it back a bit; he’s surprised he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this. Phil is warm and pliant against him and he can vaguely hear people around them clapping, but he doesn’t care.

He smiles against Phil’s lips, and when they break apart he says, “Hey, kid.”

Phil pokes his side, and Dan laughs again. It can’t get any better than this.

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH OH MY GOD PLEASE LOV ME AND TELL ME WHAT U THOUGHT I AM SO HAPPY BUT ALSO SAD BU TMOSNTLY HAPPY
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://demisexualhowell.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** both dan and phil have a panic attack, phil doesn't have a lot to eat, there's swearing and a blow job and mentioned minor character death that doesn’t actually happen in the fic


End file.
